Fragments
by MyLadyElise
Summary: A collection of short stories set after the novel ends, mostly chronicling Darcy and Elizabeth's life together. Other characters' futures represented as well. Probably also quite a bit of Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam (as I adore them as a fanon couple).
1. Chapter 1: Doubt

_This first drabble is a Colonel Fitzwilliam/Georgiana drabble – because they are my favourite fanon couple. Each of these drabbles/vignettes will be set after the events of Pride and Prejudice – and offer little glimpses of Darcy and Elizabeth's life together, as well as the extended Darcy family.__ They will be canon compliant as far as we know of canon, anyway._

_BTW, I'm using Richard as Colonel Fitzwilliam's given name._

**Doubt**

Sometimes she worried that she had been tainted by association or by her own stupidity, because she had not been wise enough or strong enough to withstand Wickham's machinations. She should have known better. Tales of fortune-hunters had been drilled into her head since the schoolroom by various nurses, governesses, and most especially her aunt Lady Catherine. She barely remembered her mother beyond fleeting caresses when her mother came to bid her goodnight, glittering in jewels and smelling of lavender and rose water. Her legacy was another thing. She would never be Mistress of Pemberley, but Georgiana understood well enough what was expected of her as the only daughter of _Lady Anne Darcy_.

Georgiana should have known better. That's what she'd said to herself afterwards. Fitzwilliam had never utter a word of recrimination to her after her confession. Somehow that was worse. She was a child to him. She wanted a lecture. She needed a lecture, some sort of recognition that she wasn't the baby that he dangled on his knee.

And now she felt tainted.

Especially now under Richard's incessant gaze.

She'd been lessened in their eyes – Richard's and Fitzwilliam's – the silence made the sin all the louder. They would protest her guilt and take it upon themselves as her guardians. She heard it in their silence. The things that were never said in this family –

And there'd been that afternoon by the pier – Wickham had bent and brushed his lips across her bare knuckles, flesh against flesh. Was not that a mortal sin? The prickling, tingling through the tips of her fingers, like a strange sickness that made her ache. Was not that a sin as well? She thought about this often – at odd shameful times which caused a flush of brilliant dark blood to stain her cheeks and neck.

Richard would turn to her then in her moments of recollection, an inquisitive brow, his mouth curving slightly upward. Were those brilliant flushes for him and him alone? She, too, wondered, for somehow in the last three years the sensory memories of her first shameful break had become entwined with . . . what she now felt. Because this wasn't a sin, was it? Now with Richard. When he held her hand or led her to the dance or to dinner and his hand a little too tight to be proper, holding her own hand a little longer than necessary. When he called her Georgie for her ears alone and wrote her all those months he'd been away in the Continent, fighting Napoleon. And he'd come back to her just as he said he would.

He had embraced her tightly and kissed her lips and called her his dearest darling, just as he had in his letters "my dearest darling in all the world."

She'd been thrilled, perhaps more than was proper. Because Richard thrilled her more than Wickham ever had. It frightened her.

Though he never would, if Richard had requested an elopement to Gretna Green she wouldn't hesitate. She wouldn't tell Fitzwilliam or Elizabeth. She'd just go. She knew this without a doubt.

Was that not a sin? To love someone too much? That he became her whole world.

Had she learned nothing in three years?

Tonight, after dinner, Richard would ask her brother for her hand and then she would know. When Richard had first asked to be allowed to court her, Fitzwilliam had been anxious for the difference in their ages, though he had given his consent because he loved them both.

Let that still hold true, she thought, because it just may be me seducing Richard to Gretna Green. It was bold and absurd, but she'd almost lost him in a small village called Waterloo.

She clasped tightly the slim Wordsworth volume so that she would not clasp the blue-clad arm resting so close to her own. She did not used to be so visceral and she blamed Wickham for that too. Even if she could not wish to erase those memories. They made her grateful for what she had now, even if she were not so innocent as other girls her age.

"Georgie?" his low, concerned tone gave her just enough courage to meet his gaze – so blue they were, like robin's eggs.

Wickham may have been the first to kiss her, but Richard was her world and the only future she wanted. She was again shamed that the two men were so connected in her thoughts.

"Richard," she hated her trembling voice, "shall we take a stroll? I am a little warm." He took her hand and the ache returned so much stronger and surged right to her chest. Yes, much stronger, and she steeled herself against the unbearable urge to murmur, "Richard, make them yours," – for that is what she truly desired – to be those things with him, the hands clasped and brushing lips, the flesh against flesh.


	2. Chapter 2: Dearest Lizzy

_Author's note: A typical letter from Kitty to Elizabeth, sometimes in Darcy and Elizabeth's first year of marriage._

* * *

Dearest Lizzy,

Or should I write "Mrs. Darcy," and say "how well that sounds," as Mamma does?

Mamma says that I must thank you for your kind invitation, because you are a great lady now and have a great many worries. Papa says that I may as well note your condescension in deigning to invite your poor relation for a visit, as Mr. Collins who is, as you well know, all that is right and proper in his knowledge of the relations between the great and the humble, woud well aprrove your condescension, if he did not so disapprove of your marrying Mr. Darcy. However, I shall stop there as I am already fatigued in writing all these "greats" and go on to happier and more interesting topics.

I have been hoping for an invitation ever since Aunt Gardiner told me about about her Christmas visit. Also, Longbourne has been dreadfully dull since everyone has married. Indeed, it feels as though all of Meryton is married but Mary, Maria Lucas, and myself. Lydia has lately written, though I suppose that you may have heard from her as well. She has been lamenting that though her elopment was quite romantic, she robbed herself of a proper trousseau. I think she envies you and Jane. But she says that her Wickham has been quite attentive, and she has been the belle of Newcastle.

I must convey excuses for Mary, though you may likely receive a letter from her as well. These last few weeks, Mary has been battling a cold. Be not alarmed; it is only a slight cold, but she has not yet been able to shake a cough. The new physician in Meryton, John Harland, has been to see her and does not think it at all wise that she travel. Mamma is relieved. She is determined that Mary shall have him, asserting that Mary shall never have another chance for a good situaiton. "There is no surer way of fixing a man's interest than being ill or injured. It appeals to a man's protective nature," she declares. Lizzy, I am not sure that I agree with her; it does not seem quite sound. How is a doctor or apothecary to work if he is to be falling in love with all his patients? Or, what if he is already married? In such a case, I do not believe I should like to be married to anyone in the profession. A soldier is much better and quite safe from falling in love with invalids.

Denny has been made a captain last week and has established himself as a favourite in the Lucas household. He visits nearly everyday and singles out Maria shamelessly. Mamma believes that Denny will make her an offer soon, and laments that neither I nor Mary were able to fix his interest since he became his uncle's heir this summer. I am not very disappointed, though he will have a clear 3000 per annum according to Lady Lucas (who is nearly crowing with the conquest). Maria herself told me that she will accept, for he is very sweet to her and looks very handsome in his regimentals. He is determined to persuade his uncle to buy a commission for him in the regulars and continue on even after he inherits. I am sure that I would like such a suitor. He is just what a young man ought to be, do not you think, Lizzy? Resolute and with a redcoat!

After I wrote the above, Maria Lucas called with the most interesting tale to relate of Hunsford! I wish you had been here to hear it in person as I am certain it will lose some of its effect in translation, but I will try my best. Maria lately received a letter from Charlotte, so perhaps you will receive your own version of this story, but I shall go on nonetheless.

James and Lady Lucas have just yesterday returned from a visit to Hunsford, so what I have to tell you comes first hand and relates to an incident between Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins. It seems that after dinner at Rosings one evening when Lady Catherine condescended to invite them, they sat in the drawing room. James said it was all rather scary and intimidating until they made to leave. It soon became evident that there was something wrong with Mr. Collins's foot; it had become numb. He tried to act as though there was nothing wrong with him, but as he came to Lady Catherine to "pay his respects" his foot gave way and he fell. Exactly on top of Lady Catherine's feet! James said she shrieked something awful and lost her balance, falling down and landing partly on Mr. Collins.

Everyone was stunned for a moment as you can imagine. James burst into laughter unable to help himself. Lady Lucas and Charlotte scolded him and immediately went to help the pair. Lady Catherine was in a tirade and scolding everyone like any fury. Especially Miss de Bourgh, who smiled too until she began coughing rather violently. Then Charlotte and Mrs. Jenkinson had to come to Miss de Bourgh. All the while Mr. Collins was apologizing repeatedly and going on about her gracious condescension and her angelic patience.

James said he liked Miss de Bourgh, even if she was rather dull most of the time. But she was kind to him and dared even to laugh at her mother and Mr. Collins's accident. Can you imagine the scene! They were not invited to Rosings again for the remainder of their stay, although Miss de Bourgh did visit the Parsonage twice.

By the way, Lady Catherine is still very much "put out" by your marriage to Mr. Darcy. I suppose you must know that, however.

How excited I am to see Pemberley at last! Jane and Bingley sing its praises. Mamma relishes in this praise and has begun to put on airs because she is the mother-in-law of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley – much to the irritation of Lady Lucas and the amusement of Papa.

I say, Lizzy, it is strange to hear you called Mrs. Darcy. I suppose it must still seem so to you. I am glad to further my acquaintance with Miss Darcy. I am determined that she and I will be great friends. By chance, will Colonel Fitzwilliam visit during my stay at Pemberley? I thought him very amiable and well looking when I met him at your wedding. Mamma hopes that I may meet a wealthy and handsome gentleman while I am at Pemberley. Does Mr. Darcy have any more handsome cousins who are officers? Haha! Are you shocked I wrote such a thing? I did not really mean it - perhaps a little?

Mamma spends most of her time at Netherfield now. I feel almost sorry for Jane and Mr. Bingley. Papa says that she tries even their patience.

Papa misses you dreadfully. He begs me to write that he shall bring me to Pemberley, for he longs to see you and wishes to know how you are getting on. Although he is severe, I believe he likes your husband, Lizzy.

Would you mind it very much if I confessed that Mr. Darcy frightens me. His manner is so uninviting and he seems so cold. I know you love him, Lizzy, and believe he is perfectly amiable. Please do not be angry with me for my confession. I could not help it. I dare say that I will be over my fright soon enough. But until then, you must promise me, Lizzy, never to leave me alone with him. I would not know what to do or say or how to behave. I want to be a credit to you.

Mamma wishes me to tell you that if you are in any need of advice upon running a household or motherhood, to write to her at once. She would accompany me to Pemberley also, be it not for Mary. She does not believe Mary would catch Dr. Harland without her.

I hope to see you soon, Lizzy! We will leave in nine days.

Your ever affectionate sister,  
Kitty

P.S. Will there be any balls while I am in Derbyshire?

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3: Caroline receives a suitor

_Author's note: Set shortly after the formal announcement of Elizabeth and Darcy's engagement._

**Caroline ****Bingley ****receives a suitor**

The Honourable Henry Penhallow, MP disembarked from his barouche as it lurched to a stop before the Hurst townhouse in Grosvenor Street. Although his attire was neat and simple, his gait unhurried, _The Times_ crunched in his right hand denoted his anxiety in the present visit. In fact, Henry never rushed; he had meditated for some time in relief and trepidation, weighing his options, wondering whether he should call, how he would find her and what he would say. Once he had made a decision, he headed directly to Grosvenor Street, because Henry was not a man to dither either.

Without acknowledging the footman, he handed off his hat and gloves and took a deep breath.

"Sir, the family is not at home –"

"The family is always at home to me," he said briskly. His stern countenance forbid any opposition. If Mr. Penhallow had not already been a familiar presence at the Hurst townhouse, the footman would have disregarded him and insisted upon his departure, calling for the butler if necessary. But, he was a familiar presence and the fact that he insisted upon seeing the family and even knew that the ladies were home, despite the appearance of the house being shut except for Mr. Hurst, suggested that something of great importance had happened. Whether it had anything to do with the matter that had sent Miss Bingley to her room in tears that morning, the footman could not imagine. He hoped, at least, that it brought some happiness to dispel the gloom which had settled over the house since Mr. Bingley's engagement was announced a fortnight ago.

Therefore, the footman bowed to Mr. Penhallow and motioned to the smaller morning room where the family customarily received their more intimate friends. He prayed that his decision had been correct. His mistress could be harsh, but she had a softness for her younger sister.

Henry found Louisa Hurst by the window embroidering a handkerchief of little use and less beauty, idly watching the fashionable traffic below.

"Mr. Penhallow!" She rose to greet him. "What a surprise! I am afraid that you find me quite abandoned. Mr. Hurst has been at White's this long while." She smiled and did not seem agitated as she held out her hand in greeting.

"Yes, so I see," he replied and bowed over her hand. "Mrs. Hurst, I must beg your pardon. There is a matter of particular importance that I wish to discuss with Miss Bingley."

Mrs. Hurst glanced at the crumpled paper and nodded just perceptively. "Of course," she said, "yes of course."

He halted, all eagerness gone. "Then, she knows – she's seen?"

Mrs. Hurst answered in positive and noted Henry's unusual lack of eloquence. "It is now decided for certain but it has been whispered about for some time since my brother's announcement."

"I had not heard. I only returned yesterday from Yorkshire."

"It is a sadly unequal alliance. Caroline is …" Mrs. Hurst paused, perhaps deciding not to confide her sister's feelings. It was Caroline's to tell, if she wished. She had never made a secret of her pursuit of Darcy and Pemberley. "You will find her in the garden, Mr. Penhallow."

* * *

Henry was uneasy upon seeing her slightly slumping figure. She wore a simple green morning gown, her hair unadorned, no feathers nor jewels. He missed the glittering, gaudy, and haughty Caroline. He had never been blind to her faults, but he had also never been blind to her – though she seemed determine to see him still as that lanky, rather plain and dull young companion of Bingley's Eton days.

She did not notice his approach and her gaze remained absently fixed on a marble fountain. He called softly, "Miss Bingley." She turned her dark head to the side, but said nothing. Realising that he still held the dreaded (and happy) announcement, he tossed it away and sat beside her on the stone bench.

Her silence unnerved him. He had never known Caroline quiet. Always excited, angry, planning, but never quiet. He had hoped that Darcy had not meant so much to her, that it had only been the dream of Pemberley. "I've come to invite you and to invite Mr. and Mrs. Hurst to dine with me tomorrow evening. It is very lonely now that Agnes is married."

She did not answer.

"Caroline?"

"I am not the best company at present, Mr. Penhallow."

"Perhaps not, but I am determined to find you so," he teased.

"So you've read the announcement? Have you come to gloat?" she asked peevishly.

"No, never to gloat," he softened his tone, "but to - what does it matter?" he wondered almost to himself. "You've known my sentiments, Miss Bingley; you must have guessed in all these years." This was not how he wanted to proceed. It was not the time to push or even to ask. "Today, I only wanted to see you and to help dispel..."

"Any notion that I've become a laughingstock among our acquaintance, Henry?" Her lip trembled and she hastily wiped away a tear and hoped that he had not seen; she could not bear to weep in front of anyone.

"To show them that you are still the elegant and sought-after Caroline Bingley that you always were," he corrected.

She smiled at little at this.

"Well then, perhaps we'll take my greys out this morning? What do you say to a turn about Hyde Park?" he urged.

She took his figure in annoyance and huffed, "I do _not_ want to parade about Hyde Park this morning, Henry!" Caroline stood and stepped away from him.

He let out a long, exhaling breath, but stopped his smile. Yes, this was his Caroline.

"No, not even to show all the Ton that Darcy's announcement does not bother you in the slightest?" He could almost trace her thoughts with her head cocked to the side.

"Yes, I can see how that may help matters," she conceded, however reluctantly. If nothing else, Caroline was a practical woman. Even with her £20,000, Caroline would never had her modicum of success with the Ton without her practicality and ability to maneuver the trickiest situations. Her fruitless pursuit of Darcy irritated Henry for that very reason. Everyone could see that Darcy was uninterested, but Caroline was uncharacteristically blind where he was concerned.

She could be so much more. She could be brilliant, especially with someone political, especially with himself. "I also mean to take advantage of your vulnerable situation and to show myself to be a worthy suitor, Caroline," he added slyly.

"Henry!"

"All this nonsense of Darcy and titles – I'm an MP now, Caroline, and I mean to be Prime Minister some day; I now have my uncle's estate in Yorkshire. I'm not a second son any longer."

She looked a little startled by his outburst. "Yes, I know that Mr. Penhallow." She turned fully to him once again. "I know that." She sat down by him once again, and allowed him to take her hand. "For so long you were my younger brother's childhood friend, and I am two years older. It is very difficult to see past early impressions, is it not?" she conceded.

"I want to marry you, Caroline." Henry had not meant to make any declaration today and he certainly was not given to impulses – except apparently with Caroline.

"You cannot ask me such a question now."

"No, you are right, but I mean to ask that question," he agreed. "First, I will ask Bingley for his blessing, and then I mean a proper courtship, Miss Bingley."

"Mr. Penhallow, I am not ready – I cannot –" she snatched her hand away from his, and could not seem to form coherent thoughts for the moment. It was all so strange. She had long suspected that Henry had some sort of _tendre_ for her, or at least that he had formerly when he had only been her younger brother's school friend and a just a boy. Despite the hints he had given over the years, she had never thought him serious. In her disappointment with Darcy, she could not yet form an opinion.

Henry was not what she had wanted. He would never be what anyone could call handsome. His name was scarcely older than her own. Dear God, she had meant to make a dazzling match, with an ancient name and fortune, even a title, eventually. She had always been certain that she would have a title with Darcy someday, even if only a knighthood.

Henry was not what she had wanted, but she was fond of him. She had never had to pretend with him, and if she were honest with herself, the lack of pretence was a relief. Perhaps she was not so adverse. A little courtship to show the Ton that she had not been so addle-brained would be a good thing.

"I will consider what you have said, Mr. Penhallow," she finally responded.

Henry nodded, but thought he would have to appeal to her better nature. "Think of it, Caroline, a position within government, perhaps even Home Secretary, entertaining all the Whig MPs and perhaps the royal Dukes. Do you think that Darcy with all his ancient wealth would entertain royalty? He is far too retiring for you, and I have always thought so. We'll spend all the Season in London, and you will have the finest gowns and jewels, a permanent voucher for Almack's if you wish, and someday when my uncle dies, you will be Lady Penhallow."

She was silent for a long moment, but her lip curled upward halfway between a smile and a smirk. "I suppose I might enjoy a turn about Hyde Park, Mr. Penhallow."

He smiled genuinely. For the first time, he was certain that he would win Caroline Bingley one day. He might not have always been serious in his pursuit of her. She might not have been his ideal. After all, he was ambitious. She was handsome, yes, and her dowry was an attractive point, but he needed more and better connections. Before the change in his circumstances, he needed far more than her £20,000. But somehow, in the last few years, Henry Penhallow came to realise that he needed Caroline. He just needed her. She was just as ambitious, just as practical. He could rely on her, if for no other reason than that they could recognise and accept the "worst" traits of one another and build upon that. In all the machinations and pretension of the Ton, it was something to be able to just _be._

Henry could just _be_ with Caroline.

She knew, just as he did, how to navigate the Ton, how to be a hostess, how to immerse herself in issues to be a credit to both their society careers. She may not have the connections of a Darcy or Fitzwilliam or Churchill, but she knew how to cultivate them and that was just as important.

Moreover, he loved her. He might not be romantic, but neither was Caroline. He loved her – of that he was sure. He was fairly confident that he could make her love him one day.

"I am ever at your service," he told her, standing and offering his arm.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, but they were no longer despondent. Calculating, that's what they were. He was content with that – to be the object of her calculation, it would be a pleasant change of pace.

"I shall have to freshen before I can be seen at Hyde Park," she said.

He nodded. "I will wait." He'd been waiting for this moment for at least the past two years. She couldn't know that, but he would wait far longer. Perhaps he was more romantic than he realised.

Just as they entered the house, she asked, "May I drive your greys?"

Henry may love her and he may have waited far longer than was strictly sensible for one so proud of his rational sense, but he was not so far gone. He looked scandalised, "Of course not, my dear."


End file.
